


Broken

by TwinKats



Series: Deity Link [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker
Genre: A lot of Ghirahim's thoughts, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Link, Gen, Ghirahim knows Proto Link, Ghirahim wants Link, Ghirahim's thoughts on Demise, Ghirahim's thoughts on Ganondorf, Ghirahim's thoughts on Hylia, Hylia makes some appearances too, Link is dead, M/M, Proto Link, Wind Waker Link is not Link, also potential some Fierce Deity, as in Before Skyward Sword Link, maybe a bit Hylia/Fierce Deity but not sure yet, oh and Ghirahim hallucinates a little, oh and some Great War stuff pre-Age of Sky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took thousands of years to piece himself back together, but when he finally did Ghirahim left in search of the Sky Child who shattered him so thoroughly. Instead he finds the world has changed, and the boy he once knew dead for good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd. Contains some spoilers for Skyward Sword but then ya'll should know those. Contains some theorizing in the Zeldaverse involving Fierce Deity and Proto-Link, as well as subsequent Link's. Some theorizing on the Wind Waker period as well. A couple AU things will always crop up. Potentially a bit of OOCness and yes, there will be some GhiraLink things too. How much at the moment is unknown, which is why the pairing is not listed. Also potential GanonLink. I'm still debating that one.

He came to slowly, which should have been odd. He felt sore, exhausted, run through. His limbs ached and trembled and his head pounded. His chest burned and it took more strength than he could gather to push himself up even the littlest bit to see where he was. The word was bleary and fuzzy and he couldn’t make out the form but someone was there. There was green and a hand and pale and blue and a touch on his shoulder.

_“Hey, you ok?”_

His limbs gave out, his vision blackened. He had a thought of— _Sky Child?_ —before it all went back.

When Ghirahim came to again the sky was dark. He pushed himself up, still feeling weak and dizzy, and dragged himself over to the trunk of a tree. His eyes sought out the sky, looking for the familiar haze of clouds or the shimmering stars of the lands in the sky. He saw neither, and it chilled him.

“Where is Skyloft…?” Ghirahim wheezed. He raised a hand up towards the sky, a frown crossing his lips, and traced the constellations. They didn’t look right. “How…how long have….” Ghirahim descended into coughing, jerking back against the trunk of the tree. His sides ached, perhaps nearly as bad as the sharp throb to his chest where the gem sat.

He looked down, and then grimaced. Where once the item was a thing of beauty, now it lay cracked and shattered. He could see the wound and gash surrounding the gem from when the Sky Child had first, finally, defeated him. He could see other, glaring cracks in his arms and his legs from where Demise had practically abused him with how vicious he’d been in battle.

Ghirahim breathed out slowly. “Not…fully reformed, then,” he murmured and grasped at the tree. It hurt to stand, to put actual pressure on his legs. It hurt to drag himself over to the tree too but Ghirahim could. He didn’t have enough of his magic, his power, to shift himself out of this semi-state and into the more familiar, less beautiful demonic form he’d taken to parading around in while waiting for the seal to weaken enough.

He was lost to the passage of time, Ghirahim realized this easily what with Skyloft missing from the sky. Obviously he’d been out for far longer than he could’ve anticipated, which begged the question of how much? The magic Hylia had expended in protecting her precious people, forced _Link_ to expend in protecting her precious people, had lasted a thousand years and could easily last several thousand more. How long had he been stuck pulling piece by piece back together?

Ghirahim turned his head and stumbled. He could hear the grinding sound of metal on metal and could feel bits and pieces, rusted from the damage even as his body slowly knit itself back together, crumble onto the earth. They would probably appear as cracks and missing chunks if he were to shift into being the blade that he was underneath the so human shape encased in metal and jewels.

From what he could see, he was by a beach. Ghirahim grimaced. “I don’t remember there being…except Floria.” The thought of Floria made him want to burn in anger, but it left him bereft instead. Ghirahim breathed out heavily.

The sand of the beach gave way to grass, which was under his feet, which gave way to rock and stone, spiraling up like a mountain except much smaller and less intimidating. Ghirahim blinked. The water at the beaches edge curled around the sides, almost as if it surrounded the land he was on entirely. It took him a moment, as his legs streaked pain and his chest throbbed with something unholy, to realize that he was on an island and the beach was truly just a step into the sea.

Ghirahim couldn’t remember the sea. It’d been too long since he’d seen any shores but that which made up the lakes in Hyrule and, perhaps once so very long ago after he’d first been forged in the fires of Demise’s hatred, that one Great Sea that shriveled and died under heat and war.

“What has happened to the world…?” Ghirahim murmured, then gasped with a sudden jerk as his chest throbbed twice has hard as before. His limbs trembled and he fell to his knees which made him just wince and stifle a cry. He could feel chunks break off at the sudden drop of his weight and it burned, it burned and it hurt. Ghirahim barely caught himself with his hands as he tipped sideways, his vision swimming from the sudden burst of pain.

It felt like…Ghirahim wheezed, his eyes as white as his hair and the markings upon his black body widened in shock and a little terror. It felt like when Demise forced him into the shape of a sword by pulling out his insides and swallowing him whole. It was a burning, screaming pain in his chest drawn on and called by Demise’s seething rage and power. It throbbed around him, in tune with his heartbeat if he were anything but a blade.

It couldn’t be possible. Demise was _dead._ Ghirahim winced. His being tugged forward, almost by a chain. Demise was dead. He had failed in his mission and was cast aside because _Demise was dead._ His vision began to go black at the edges, his breathing sharpened.

“He’s not here…” he reminded himself faintly. “He can’t be….”

He winced, he tried to force himself to stand, but the swimming and the pain only made him finally collapse completely into the ground like a ragdoll. He could see fire and red and a cruel smile upon dark skin.

_“You failed me whelp.”_

It made him sick. Ghirahim blacked out for the second time.

The third time Ghirahim came to his body hurt less and he revived much quicker. A quick glance to his extremities showed that the gaping glowing wounds from his battle were smaller, less glowing and less heated. His chest still hurt like a bitch and he could still feel the calling that wanted to drag him into the sea but it was lesser of a thing, as if Demise— _not Demise,_ Ghirahim grit his teeth and grunted at the thought, _Demise is dead_ —desired his weapon once more.

Ghirahim got to his feet, a little unsteady but more stable than before, and choose to explore this little island around himself. He could feel his magic beneath the casing of his skin, stronger but still weak enough not to allow him to shift into the human shape. His legs clunked loudly against the earth, although it was more like a thump than a clunk—it felt like a clunk.

There was enough ground around the side of the cliff face that the grass gave into that Ghirahim could walk the full outer ring of the island. The earth stood tall in the middle, apparently surrounded by grass and then beach on either side. On the opposite end where Ghirahim had awoken the rock had an opening to a cave. Ghirahim stumbled into the dirt wall next to the caves entrance and peered inside. It sloped downwards, beneath the level of the water outside, potentially into a deep cavern below. He wanted to laugh, it seemed like a place where the Sky Child would find some hereto unknown weapon or tool or maybe just rupees.

Ghirahim could never understand how the boy could find rupees in something as simple as the grass. It was like a form of magic no other human, demon, or sword could replicate. The memory brought a smile to his lips in thought, and then a frown. Ghirahim sighed. He set himself down into the dirt, aware that if he strained himself again he’d black out once more, and glanced up into the night sky.

“The passage of time…” he said. He couldn’t tell how long he remained unconscious each time he blacked out, but twice now he’d awoken to a dark sky. Ghirahim sighed. “I wonder….”

He could remember, faintly, hearing Demise’s words, a curse, just as easily as he could remember hearing Hylia’s. Ghirahim closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. Perhaps he was the only one to see it. Perhaps he was the only one to notice. Ghirahim blinked once, lips curled down. It didn’t matter in the end, really. Not when he was here now and, essentially, free from his chains. Now…now he could find out where the Sky Child had gone, where the soul now resided.

Maybe he could make things right and free the boy from his chains as well, like he couldn’t do before.

* * *

It took a snap of his fingers and the shifting visage of diamonds to appear where he wanted, the image so clear in his mind. The room, a cell really, was damp and dark. The walls were stone, bits crumbling away, but still sturdy enough for their intended purpose. Ghirahim glanced towards the faint light, the spiraling exit that led to a doorway into the surface, just to ensure that he had timed this perfectly. He had, but unlike normal when faced with his own brilliance Ghirahim didn’t smile.

Cautiously he stepped in the dark over towards a wall, raising one hand now wreath in conjured light. He could hear the sound of rattling chains and a hiss of pain as he moved closer. Ghirahim could see the faint, dirtied color of green and pale, bruised and abused flesh. He immediately dimmed the light a little, which earned him the sound of rattling chains again with an accompanied a sigh of relief.

“You…came,” the figure said. Ghirahim kept the light low, so as not to aggravate the boy’s—man’s, really, Ghirahim should get used to that—apparent sensitivity to the substance.

“I promised, didn’t I?” Ghirahim replied, stepping lightly over chains that covered the ground. He examined what he could see, wrists that were caked in dried blood and ringed in purple, covered by stark metal that dug into the wall. Arms, strained from holding the full weight of a grown man, trembling and almost emaciated.

“You took…long,” he rasped. His voice sounded ill-used and, in a random bout of sympathy Ghirahim summoned a glass of water.

Ghirahim shifted. “Close your eyes,” he said, and then stepped close and pressed the cup against his lips. “Drink.” Given the position and the fact that Ghirahim had to hold the cup for him, water dribbled down his chin and, it most likely burned on its way down a parched throat. “Do they not even give you basic care?”

He swallowed. “Not really…a traitor’s right…is it?” he questioned.

Ghirahim snorted. “Which means they haven’t figured it out yet,” he said harshly.

He laughed. “Given my…company? Why would…they try.”

“Humans,” Ghirahim spat. “Never looking beyond the surface of things.” He shifted back to examining the chains tossing the cup away where it disappeared into flecks of diamonds. He drew the light with him, offhandedly saying, “You can open your eyes now.”

The chain in his view shifted as the prisoner moved, and then appeared to slacken just the slightest as he placed more of his weight back onto his legs. There was a tired, rasping sigh as Ghirahim studied the markings carved into the metal with a frown.

“You won’t…you can’t…” he said. “They won’t break. They….”

“I can see their warded, I’m not blind,” Ghirahim snorted. “Clever beasts, aren’t they, though?”

The laugh from the figure quickly turned into a cough. Ghirahim moved to view the other cuff, just to be certain that the wards were the same and without mistakes, and then huffed.

“I could cut off your hands, that would solve the problem,” the Demon Lord mused.

“I’d rather you not,” he muttered back. “What use is a handless swordsman?”

Ghirahim rolled his eyes and then moved to inspect the rest of him, tsking at the state of his clothes, and his skin, and how thin he’d become.

“You would think they’d have more care,” Ghirahim muttered. “At least we just kill our prisoners instead of brutalizing them.”

“Like that’s much better.”

“Sounds like you’re feeling stronger?” Ghirahim questioned, moving the light to get a good look at the boy’s— _man’s,_ he’s a man now—face. “Oh, they’ve marred your good looks. I’ll have to make them pay for that.”

Blue eyes rolled up and around, wincing slightly from one rather harsh looking bruise that had almost swollen one eye shut. “Don’t even bother,” he said. “They’ll just take it as confirmation.”

“Fine, fine,” Ghirahim grumbled. “You and your precious humans, I swear.”

He huffed softly and Ghirahim could see the amused smile curling at his lips. “Yes, _my_ precious humans,” he said, almost a little sharply. Ghirahim could recognize the possessiveness in his words and understood what the boy— _man_ —was saying without saying. His gaze slid towards the chains. “Could you…?”

Ghirahim snorted. “Give me a few centuries, possibly. Not that you have that much time.”

He sighed, and slumped. Ghirahim frowned. It had to hurt to pull on his arms like that. “Of course,” he said tiredly.

Ghirahim stood there, dangerously close to the limp and tired form of a _hero,_ and the word sounded derisive even in his own head. The boy— _the man_ —was no hero even if once lauded by the population as such. Still, seeing him like this, defeated, and knowing how long it took him—him, the Demon Lord!—to come and see if there was any way, any way at all, to get him out of these chains….Ghirahim swallowed back a small bit of bile that threatened to come up from his throat.

“I’m…sorry,” Ghirahim said haltingly. “For not….”

“I know,” the prisoner uttered. “I understand.”

They stood in silence, gazing at each other for a moment. Then the figure sighed and closed his eyes, slumping even more in his bonds.

“You should go,” he said. “They’ll return soon.”

Ghirahim frowned. “You shouldn’t let them do this to you,” he said. “You’re better than this.”

“Not…anymore,” he said back.

Ghirahim’s frown turned into a scowl and with a snap of his figures he disappeared.

* * *

Ghirahim recovered, but is was slower than he’d like. He could remember that there was once a time where it’d take hours to be whole again, hours to minutes after a grueling battle, after being swung and bandied about, tasting the blood of thousands against his flesh. The nicks and chips that he’d gained, being Demise’s weapon, would disappear seemingly overnight.

Since that battle, since Demise’s death, he’d healed so slowly. It took him centuries to even reform himself together again, and it took him weeks to get to the point that he can move about without tiring or feeling pain again. As the days passed, the calling in his chest cooled into a dull and distant throb, and soon enough he could take upon the more human shape.

Hunger followed, as he became stronger and healthier. It burned and gnawed at his gut, and the only thing Ghirahim could gather to satisfy it was fruit from the trees that dotted the island. He eventually ventured into the cave, and like he expected he discovered a chest full of rupees. These, ultimately, were useless to him. Still Ghirahim huffed and sent them away, then gathered up the dead beasts and set them about to be cooked.

Now, now he felt ready to try and get off this island. It’d been weeks, almost months, and he was tired and aching still but he was well enough to venture off. He figured they couldn’t be too far apart, the water and whatever was around. He’d find a place with inhabitants— _humans_ , which only raised a sneer to his face—and then, well…then maybe he could discover where the Sky Child had gotten off too in this lifetime.

It took him a few days of tearing the trees apart and fashioning them into logs, ripping and tearing apart clothing that he’d stuffed away with his magic so long ago until he could fashion a raft and a sail with which to venture into the water. A healthy dose of magic ensured the thing would stay afloat. Ghirahim pushed it into the water waded until he was up to his waist, and then with a snap of his fingers, settled on top of the wood. He glanced to the skies, frowned at the lack of wind, and another snap had his sails full and off in a random direction.

He didn’t care how long it took, he’d find his Sky Child.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghirahim realizes that language changes over the world, and meets a strangely familiar looking human who happens to be overly cheerful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the same chapter as earlier with a different ending. I fuckd up and posted an incomplete chapter when half awake. Is fixed now.

Ghirahim’s hand crafted raft crashed upon the sandy beach of some random island that looked to have life. It actually reminded him quite a bit of Skyloft, or a chuck of Skyloft. He glanced about what he could see as he stepped off of the remains of his raft. Yes, it definitely reminded him of a bit of Skyloft. Granted Ghirahim had only seen the land once, maybe twice in his lifetime, and usually in such a passing manner that it couldn’t be considered much helpful.

He’d wanted to see where Link would end up, only once, and he never dared to breech the clouds again until that fateful day after that. Ghirahim breathed out and stumbled forward, limbs attempting to get used to somewhat steady lands. Perhaps, because of the fact that he’d lived, breathed, and practically died upon solid earth he alone could feel the subtle swaying of the island beneath his feet, and it turned his well-honed balance on its head. Ghirahim stumbled into the side of the wall and ran one hand through his hair.

“What in _his_ name has been done to this place?” he muttered and pushed himself upright. Ghirahim started walking past the beach, not even sparing his broken raft a glance. He’d just have to buy a new one off of somebody somewhere, maybe actually learn how to steer one of the things even. He’d never had use for boats before, minions could always do that, but these days….Ghirahim doubted anyone, let alone demons, remembered his name. It appeared to have been far too long.

It took him a minute to get up the hill. He stared at the docks, turned, stared at the building that was apparently some sort of bomb shop given its logo—he couldn’t quite read the words—and then he turned to face what appeared to be the main entrance to whatever this place was. It took him a second, staring at the symbols carved into the archway, before he realized something that Ghirahim hadn’t thought would be a problem before now.

He had _no idea_ what the writing said. He didn’t know it. He probably didn’t even know the language they’d speak. The thought, which he’d been pushing back since he’d woken up, crashed down upon him like the force of a torrent and Ghirahim collapsed onto his ass with a frustrated groan. He dug his hands into his hair and tried to contain the disappointment and fury that welled up inside of him, pressing it down in an effort to keep his more human form.

Not that Ghirahim had cared before, he couldn’t even be sure how he cared now.

For the first time in quite some time Ghirahim felt _less_ than the perfection that he was. He felt like the broken, disused, abandoned weapon that he was—the _failure_ that Demise saw him as—and it stung. He should’ve thought of this complication before he stepped off of the island—although how he would have corrected it he had no idea whatsoever—considering how the language had changed over time after Hylia separated the lands and sent the humans into the sky. That had only been a thousand years of difference, now he had no idea how long it could possibly have been since then!

Ghirahim had a thousand years before to adjust to the changes in language, now he had who knows how long. His chest throbbed.

“ _Idiot,_ ” he hissed between his teeth. “ _You’re supposed to be perfect, damn you._ ”

Ghirahim tugged at his hair and almost began slamming his head into the ground in sheer frustration, trying to stem the rising bloodlust that threatened to overcome him, when he felt a tug at his cloak and a soft voice at his side.

“Hey, Mister, you ok?”

It sounded like gibberish. Ghirahim glanced out of the corner of his eye, stifling a groan of fury, and noted that it was a child. A blond, little girl with sky blue eyes and pointed ears…Ghirahim stilled. He had the thought of _Hylia_ and a sudden race of rage but the little girl was dressed in green and green was Link’s color—his mind twisted in on itself, confusion, exhaustion, hunger, and pain curling up into one mess.

Ghirahim bent forward and cursed between his teeth and waved a hand. He set the child back with a barrier of diamonds, about the only thing he would do that seemed remotely kind, and then vanished. He didn’t disappear from the island—he couldn’t, actually, leave the island since all there was surrounding him was ocean and he didn’t understand the lay of this land _at all._ Instead he went from being in front of the— _gates?_ —to this place to being curled up in the sand under some sort of cliff.

For a moment Ghirahim wondered why humans had to be so resilient and adaptable. They changed so quickly in their short lifespans and it left him often reeling when he went years without checking in on them. He could remember one moment Link being a child and the next a man and worthy adversary all because he’d been drawn away by duty or whatever it is Demise wished. Ghirahim shuddered. How was he supposed to find the Sky Child now, when he couldn’t even understand a word of the local populace?

Perhaps it would just be better to find out where all the demons had gone, or maybe to follow the calling—Ghirahim jerked and flung out his hand with a sharp growl of frustration and denial that quickly turned into a yelled, “ _No!_ ” Without even meaning to he let out a burst of magic that kicked up sea water and sand that did nothing but soak him.

Well, the coldness of the water at least jolted him out of his thoughts enough to get him to sit there, dripping wet, and _think._ The black that had streaked up his arms quickly disappeared and the panic and rage that clouded his mind vanished with it. Ghirahim sighed, shivered lightly, and pulled his now wet hair out of his eyes with a scowl. It would take him far longer than he’d like to fix this set back, and the pull might grow strong or the Sky Child might be drawn into fighting whoever it was— _Demise was dead_ , he had to remind himself—before he could get there and disabuse the Goddess of that notion.

Ghirahim’s lips curled back. She’d done enough damage already.

Ghirahim had just thumped his head back against the rock, finally relaxing down as his mind worked furiously to figure out how to overcome this obstacle in the quickest time possible, when he caught the sound of boots on sand.

“Hey!”

Ghirahim was on his feet in an instant, hand held up and two fingers out ready to snap and cast magic or block an incoming attack with his superior strength. He was met with a stranger, a human, and the little girl he’d tossed back earlier hiding in the man’s pants. His eyes narrowed and he cautiously lowered his hand a bit, if only to convey he didn’t mean harm.

That was body language for not meaning harm, right? Ghirahim frowned and refrained from canting his head to the side in thought, keeping his eyes trained on the humans before him.

“Why’d you push my girl away so forcefully, eh?” the man questioned, and Ghirahim’s frown deepened.

“I can’t _understand_ you human,” he ground out, a bit of frustration leaking into his voice. Gibberish, _just_ gibberish. Why couldn’t he have been awake for the thousands of years it took to pull himself together? Ghirahim had a feeling the blasted _Fi_ would never have this problem. Hylia at least knew how to do _one thing_ right.

The human blinked, his eyes widened, but he put on a gentle smile that seemed to throw Ghirahim off and coincidentally make him more unnerved. He raised his hand back up and the man seemed to raise his own in a sign of peace. Ghirahim scowled. He’d never really _known_ peace. He didn’t like the thought of it.

The human pointed to his chest. “Vio,” he said calmly, and then patted his daughters hair and said, “Linkle.”

Ghirahim jerked in surprise at the name, which earned him a curious look. Vio motioned towards the Demon Lord and asked, “Your name?” politely, not that Ghirahim really understood the words but he got the context.

He wanted to groan. This is embarrassing. “Ghirahim,” he grunted instead, lowering his hand a bit.

Vio said kindly, “Peace,” and raised his hands again in that supposed-to-be calming gesture. Ghirahim snorted.

“I don’t think that’s doing what you think it’s doing, human,” he said.

“Vio,” Vio insisted. Ghirahim scowled, then rolled his eyes.

“ _Vio,_ ” he said back sarcastically and was met with a blinding smile.

Vio started to head back out from under the cliff towards the village, hand on the little girl’s shoulder— _Linkle…?_ Ghirahim felt betrayed—and, almost subconsciously, Ghirahim followed after him. He spoke rapidly in whatever language the humans spoke these days which, at the moment, Ghirahim ignored too focused on the little girl.

It was odd, he felt. Linkle _looked_ and the name even _sounded_ like Link, like the Sky Child. It rubbed him wrong, and he wanted to ask this Vio human what right he had naming the little beast that. Except if he looked closely he could see the resemblance to the Sky Child and his head started to hurt attempting to ponder just what was going on.

Vio led him all the way to the docks, where he motioned towards a boat and smiled and said cheerfully, “My boat!”

Ghirahim stared at him blankly. He wondered what this mattered at all about, but Vio just motioned for Ghirahim to get on. He kept up a dialogue in that language that left Ghirahim cursing under his breath. The Demon Lord debated it, wondered if it would be worth it to do as the strange human was gesturing. For his first foray into human civilization he’d run into such a trusting and _foolish_ pair of them, but at the same time he himself was lost and essentially floundering.

Ghirahim grit his teeth but gave in. He loathed to admit it but he needed help, and until he was able to actually figure out this strange, confusing, island filled world of water he’d have to rely on, and it drove him to shudder in practical disgust, _humans_. Vio smiled brilliantly at the demon and boarded the boat along with what Ghirahim was quickly recognizing as his daughter and began to set sail. The brat, Linkle, walked up to him and began to chatter away.

Ghirahim almost groaned. This was going to be long, and horrible, and he was greatly regretting his decision.

* * *

Ghirahim spent the entire boat ride with his legs crossed and his hand pressed firmly against his cheek, staring out ahead with a pout on his lips as the little brat nattered away until she fell asleep. He glanced at her once after she conked out, narrowed his eyes, and huffed. With a scowl he snapped his fingers and a blanket settled carefully over her shoulders to protect her from the chilled winds of the sea.

Vio, most probably her father, watched him curiously and gave this smile which made Ghirahim feel something _unholy_ rise up in his chest, so the demon scowled some more and turned his gaze elsewhere. As he’d thought, the ride had become tedious rather fast. He didn’t pay attention to anything, really, not even Vio until the man had called his name at least four times.

“Ghirahim!”

Ghirahim jerked. “What?” he snapped out, and Vio smiled.

“So that means ‘what’ I take it?” he asked, and Ghirahim’s scowl grew deeper.

“I can’t understand you, human, or did you forget?” he snapped out.

“Not human,” Vio reiterated, and Ghirahim jerked. He hadn’t realized that the word ‘human’ was still the same, given the sharp, clear, and familiar pronunciation. Especially not when Vio mangled his name enough on the first few times he’d speak it. “My name is Vio.”

“You look human,” Ghirahim mumbled and turned his head away in thought. Vio rolled his eyes and called out again.

“Ghirahim!”

Ghirahim glanced in his direction. Vio motioned for him to come over and gave Ghirahim a pointed look. The demon sighed and got to his feet, wobbling on the boat—the rocking motion was far worse on the boat than on the islands—and made his way over. He caught Vio’s chuckles and almost snarled.

“Peace, peace,” Vio said. “I’ve just never seen someone without their sea legs.”

“I still have no idea what you are saying,” Ghirahim pointed out and Vio laughed again and motioned towards the expanse before him.

“I figure we’ll start with lessons on words, since you might want to communicate, Ghirahim,” Vio said cheerfully.

“What?” Ghirahim frowned. About the only thing he caught from that was his name. His brow furrowed in confusion and Vio smiled patiently.

“This is the sea,” Vio said. “Sea.” He waved his hand at the expanse of ocean before him.

“You are making no sense,” Ghirahim pointed out. Vio rolled his eyes, repeated the motion, and the word. “ _Sea?_ ” Ghirahim muttered, confused. “Is that what you want me to say? _Sea?_ ”

“Yes! Sea!” Vio smiled.

Ghirahim wanted to die. Trust himself to find the most cheerful human around and get himself stuck on a boat with it.

Vio pointed at the water and said another word, much to Ghirahim’s annoyance. “Water.”

Ghirahim leaned against the railing. “ _Water_ , sure, right. I still have no idea what you are saying.” Vio patted his shoulder, the gesture surprising Ghirahim enough that he jerked away and raised a hand up, ready to snap a dagger through the human’s face. It was only the look of shock and a bit of horror that made Ghirahim stop, confused.

“I trust it you must not have had a good life before this,” Vio murmured sadly.

Ghirahim stared at him, lips pressed thin. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded. “Why are you _looking at me like that?!_ ”

“Peace, peace,” Vio repeated, raising his hands. “I am sorry.”

Ghirahim scowled and moved away.

“I touch,” Vio said slowly, and Ghirahim paused. “You, Ghirahim, not like.”

Ghirahim glanced to Vio and said, “ _I touch,_ ” slowly. “ _Vio not._ ” At least, he hoped he got the words right. When Vio nodded, Ghirahim assumed he had figured out the sentences correctly and felt a small thrill of pleasure at the thought. He wasn’t so useless after all, it seemed, if he could pick up that much.

“We’re almost to the island anyway,” Vio said, and Ghirahim took his sudden chatter as dismissal and moved back to where he had been sitting before. “We’ll continue lessons when you’re in a better mood, no? You should know how to communicate at least.”

“I still don’t understand you,” Ghirahim grumbled. “Why do you insist on talking?”

“First though we should probably eat,” Vio continued. “Asa will have made food by the time we return. I was at Windfall to trade this morning. I wonder if you have any clothes…?”

“Can you _shut up_ human?” Ghirahim grumbled.

“Vio,” Vio corrected calmly and Ghirahim threw up his hands and huffed, plopping back down with a frown to his lips. Vio just smiled. Quickly enough they came upon the island that Vio had been steering the boat towards. Atop it stood a simple, single house. In fact the island was large enough just for the house and nothing else.

Ghirahim frowned. Didn’t humans live in villages or something?

“You…live alone?” he muttered, a bit confused now. Not only was the human _kind_ to him, an obvious demon and stranger, but he lived alone and not in a village? Had the world truly changed so much.

Vio didn’t answer, but Ghirahim didn’t expect him to. Instead he focused on docking the boat and then tying it down before rousing Linkle and motioning for Ghirahim to follow. Ghirahim did so, vanishing the blanket with a snap of his fingers and a frown.

“Asa will have made food,” Vio repeated, but Ghirahim didn’t understand. He did smell something that was almost _divine_ , especially after surviving on only but fruit. His stomach grumbled hungrily and for a moment Ghirahim felt _embarrassed_. “Ah, you’re hungry.”

“What?” Ghirahim glanced at him, wondering what he’d said. He thought he heard you in there, but he couldn’t be certain.

“You, are, you’re,” Vio repeated slowly. “Hungry.”

 _You, are_ and _you’re_ Ghirahim quickly figured for a conjunction of some kind. _Hungry_ he didn’t understand at all until Vio pointed towards his stomach and arched his eyebrows.

“Yes, fine, I’m _hungry,_ ” Ghirahim muttered and swept his hand through his hair exasperatedly. Vio smiled again.

“Asa always makes food for when I return from early market trading,” Vio said cheerfully. “Asa! I’ve brought a guest!”

“You’ve brought a _what?!_ Vio I swear to all that is _unholy_ if you’ve brought one of your drinking buddies without warning me _again_ —” A woman, dressed in blues with hair as pale blond as a Sheikah stepped out of the house with a spatula in hand. She had some sort of bandanna wrapped around her forehead and down around her neck, almost like some sort of strange, new fashion of the old Sheikah headdress. She stopped when she saw Ghirahim, hair and face a mess, looking as if he’d obviously been soaked and then dried in the sea air, and a little thin. Her lips pursed.

“You brought home another stray,” she said bluntly.

Vio gave her a blinding smile as Ghirahim watched, completely at a loss as to what was being said. Vio walked up to his wife, saying something, and was received with a smack to the face by the spatula. Linkle, from beside Ghirahim, giggled and clutched at his cloak. Ghirahim glanced down at her.

“Yes,” he said, tone utterly serious, “random acts of violence are funny.” He tilted his head and peered down at her, almost in a new light. “You’d make a pretty good demon…if you could understand me.” Ghrahim frowned and let out a frustrated sigh. “Maybe I could put up with an annoying brat and an overly cheerful human.”

“Not human!” Vio spoke up, and Ghirahim glanced back towards him. “Vio.”

His brow twitched. “No matter how many times you say _Vio_ that doesn’t mean I won’t quit calling you _human,_ ” he grunted, tossing his hands up. Asa glanced between the two, let out an unladylike snort and shouted something over her shoulder as she stormed back inside. Vio rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous smile.

Linkle giggled, said something that Ghirahim couldn’t catch—not that he understood, but nobody seemed to get that—and skipped off into the house. Vio pleasantly motioned Ghirahim to follow after her.

“I have no idea how you can’t see that I am a very deadly weapon,” Ghirahim said tiredly, “but at this moment food is all I care about. I’ll think about violent bloody murder later.” He did as Vio bid, and wondered if this was to be his new lot in life.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I'm being partially influenced by the Hyrule Historia and that lovely little manga short at the end. Because, ah, in his twenties Link chained to a wall and obviously not in good condition is apparently very attractive.
> 
> So yeah.
> 
> Uhm no idea how fast or slow this will be as I'm not certain what'll I stuff into there. I know I want to put some distance before I start gearing up for things, so I'll probably focus on Ghirahim adjusting to the new world and its life until WW Link starts his journey. Right now we're roughly...six years before that? Give or take.


End file.
